Features

A wee dram afore ye go

Some people did lacrosse. Others did CDT. But for some reason, as a
12-year-old, I had the foresight to choose Scottish country dancing. Looking
at the pictures today, I’d say we were less Flying Scotsman and more clootie
dumpling — a pair of Green Flash trainers rather takes the edge off a tartan
kilt — but you couldn’t fault us for dedication, practising every week in
the cafeteria after school, dodging squashed peas and skidding through
custard streaks in preparation for January 25’s big event: Burns Night.

If I’m honest, the celebration of Scotland’s foremost poet, Robert Burns, was
probably rather less important to us than the fact that Burns Night meant
the Scottish country dancing squad got, for one night only, exclusive rights
to dance with the boys from the neighbouring school — sussed! Certainly the
charms of the ceilidh haven’t faded for me in the intervening years. Once
you’ve skipped, sweated